On the Twelfth Night
by shakespeare-lozza
Summary: Harry Potter only wants to live a normal life, however on one magical night, he steals a kiss and fate causes him to lose his heart. By dawn, his mystery lady has fled, and in her place has appeared a shy 'male' roommate... coincidence? Maybe not…
1. The Mystery of Midsummer Madness

Welcome readers to the sequel of **_Pride and Pretence_**, I hope that many of you are continuing on to read my new series… however to all new readers, it is up to you whether you want to read my first story, however all I ask is a nice review here and there! Thanks, now onto _**On the Twelfth Night**…_

_Love is a cliché… probably the greatest one known to mankind. All that endless talk of 'star crossed lovers', 'soul mates' and … ugh… god forbid, 'AFFECTIONATE RELATIONSHIPS' was enough to make one forgo any type of chocolate covered confectionary, just in the vain hope of making a stand against Valentine's Day… or perhaps I just hated the idea that I had been won over by such a whirlwind emotion. A passion to deny all other passions… a throbbing ache in the soul, that screamed for fulfilment… _yet fickle and changing_… or at least, so I had been led to believe…._

Sylphide swept her blonde locks over her shoulder; her books strapped carelessly by a thick belt, slapping rhythmically against her back. The wind was strong outside as she strolled across the grounds at Hogwarts; it was rather cold for summer… actually, exceedingly cold. It was a terrible way to end the school term, as it left little hope for sunny weather during the school holidays, which were due to begin the next day. All she had wanted to do was take a brisk walk before her next class, the air was invigorating around this region, more so than where she had used to live. The mountain air was one of the few reasons why she had transferred from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts; Sylphide laughed, _that and the whole idea of wearing that terrible uniform…_. With that thought, her black robes flapped open, sending a blast of freezing cold air straight through her body. Pulling her clothing tight around her small frame, she rapidly ran for shelter, thrusting herself into a small alcove that led past the hospital wing. She let out a small breath, watching eagerly as it formed a faint wisp of condensation. Her face was delicately flushed from windburn and decided it would be wise to wait out the tempest that was occurring outside. With a quick brush, she smoothed her hair back to a relatively normal shape, and whilst she busily flicked invisible lint from her shoulders –attempting to appear busy should anyone happen to walk past, she heard a light murmuring from the next room. It was the only room in which light could be seen, a soft glow implying the presence of candles.

Curiosity had always been her worst failing, and with a soft step born of experience, she crept over to the doorjamb to see who was making the noise. The corridor was dark in comparison and she could feel her pupils adjusting to the darkness. The instant smell of the hospital wing burned her nostrils and she gave a subtle cough, the sound bordering on a sneeze. Suddenly a fan of brown curls arrested her gaze. Lying against a mound of white pillows was the famous Hermione Granger, the girl said to be the 'brightest witch of the age', she really was a slight thing… pretty, but slight. Not to mention the giant bed she rested upon effectively seemed to swallow her whole, rendering her outwardly defenceless. Although despite her milk white complexion –which mirrored her illness- her eyes seemed to sparkle with life. They were bright as twin candles, as they locked onto a pair of stormy grey orbs that glittered with barely contained mischief. The blond hair and the grey eyes… _This must be Draco Malfoy_, Sylphide reflected. She had been told that he had once been the most heartbreaking boy in school; it was amusing to think that such a wild lothario had been tamed by this slip of a woman. He had such love in his visage; it was beautiful to witness…. Even to one as cynical as Sylphide.

It was almost enough to incite a small amount of jealousy… Sylphide shoved the treasonous thought from her mind.

"I know you… but you are new aren't you?" A feminine voice drifted out from the hospital wing, although Sylphide was loathe to admit it, she knew very well that the comment was directed at her. Shyly, she revealed herself from the shadowed spot behind the door. She blinked as her eyes attuned to the change in light, the glow of the candles was infinitely warmer than the glare from outside. _Damn it… now they must think I am some sort of depraved loser…_ She noticed that Hermione was watching her almost expectantly, Sylphide felt her mind drain of all possible responses. Luckily Hermione saw fit to continue, filling the awkward silence that arose "You are Sylphide!" She exclaimed in a fit of recognition, Sylphide visibly shrank back from the high levels of exuberance that seemed to radiate from her being. _How can she be so happy? Isn't she meant to be sick or something?_ "I have seen you around… Ravenclaw, I imagine?"

Sylphide stupidly looked down at her own robes to affirm this statement. Realising her mistake micro-seconds after she made it, only served to intensify her embarrassment. "Y-yes…" Her eyes darted swiftly to Draco who lay protectively beside Hermione, but she made sure not to make any deliberately obvious eye contact, because although she was not going to admit, she found his very attendance overwhelming. "You are friends with H-…Ha-… Har-…" Sylphide felt all her words jumble up in her mouth and almost cried when she felt the flames that licked at her cheeks. _Oh my god… why did I even mention him? Now I look even more mentally unstable! There is no way that she couldn't know now… _Biting her lip, she gently turned away casting her eyes to the stones that lined the floor.

She refused to look at Hermione, but was glad when she replied stating "Harry Potter? Yes, we are friends… Oh, I assume you know my boyfriend, Draco?"

Sylphide was then forced to look up, and was surprised to find Draco sporting a friendly smile on his face, from what her fellow Ravenclaws had revealed, she had imagined him to be cold and cruel. Perhaps Hermione had influenced him? Well she couldn't bring herself to assume, as she knew very little about the pair already. Sylphide smiled back, "Why of course…"

Draco nodded, and Sylphide was assured of his kindness. After a space of a few minutes, nothing was said. And Hermione had a strangely calculating look on her face. With a game smile, Sylphide said "It has been great meeting you… some other time ok?" And quick as a flash, she was once more outside the hospital wing.

Clapping her hands to her burning cheeks, she moaned in mortification. She greatly feared that she had inadvertently made a complete fool of herself. Composing her features, she reminded her own lungs to take in air. _One breath in, one breath out that is what staying alive is all about! _Her mind quipped to itself. _Oh my god I am so weird…_

With a quick glance, she looked back outside to see if the gale had dissipated. To her happiness, it seemed to have calmed somewhat, and she moved to exit via the way she came. Unfortunately, all it took were four steps before she was way laid by a bunch of giggling Gryffindors. Sylphide could not help but stop in her tracks when she overheard the direction of their conversation.

"So where is he?" One of them tittered.

"I heard he was around here somewhere…" Another whimpered, her eyes flicking desperately around the alcove, resting for a scant instant on Sylphide before moving on. "He is so _wonderful_…"

"Do you think Harry will mind signing my shirt?"

Sylphide gave an internal laugh; thinking that perhaps she should feel sorry for the poor boy… a hoard of crazy fan girls dogging his every footstep. Her mind rebelled, _Well am I any better? _Sylphide silenced her inner voice with a mentally induced hush.

"Forget the shirt! I want him to sign my chest!"

This statement caused a wave of laughter to crash over the whole group. _How old are these kids? Thirteen? When did being thirteen make you sexually mature? _Sylphide willed her feet to keep walking, but instead, her contrary brain decided to fiddle with her books to have a reason to remain in the alcove. They were strapped tightly with an old leather belt, one of the few objects she had grabbed before departing her old home at Beauxbaton Academy. Pulling the weathered belt left and right, she gently tugged at it to appear busy. Therefore, it was terribly unfortunate that at this instant, the belt's notch ripped and all her loose papers went flying. On the gentle breeze they soared high into the air… and out of the alcove.

With a scream of frustration, Sylphide rushed out grabbing wildly at the papers that now lay scattered across the pristine lawn, completely aware that a whole bunch of girls were presently cacking themselves at her predicament. "Damn it… My Dark Arts papers!" Sylphide knew well that she had to pass Defence against the Dark Arts this year, otherwise there would be hell to pay… she had barely even passed the midterm paper…

It was an arduous task retrieving all her documents, and she was almost in tears by the time she had collected the last one. Breathing a sigh of relief, she leafed through her sheets to check they were all present. She was glad to note that not a single one had disappeared. Therefore it was an awful feeling when she finally looked up to realise that she was utterly lost. She turned around and around, but to no avail, she recognised nothing of the area. The length of green seemed to span to the horizon, with absolutely no ending. She reflected that she must have walked over a hill, thus blocking her view of the castle.

Life was just going swell for Sylphide… great, great, fan- freaking- tastic!

Sylphide was so close to just sitting down in the middle of the wide paddock, when a golden winged orb flew straight at her face. With a shriek Sylphide flung all her papers up once again in surprise. "WHAT THE HELL?" After receiving the shock of her life, Sylphide could do little but fall backward, landing unceremoniously on her posterior. Her Dark Arts Essay falling comically from the air to land strewn about her shocked form. Her mouth was hanging open, midway between surprise and terror, when the worst thing imaginable occurred.

"Are you okay?"

Sylphide's mouth opened and closed slowly, her heart was beating so fast that it almost erupted from her chest. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her hands clutched almost protectively to the green grass that felt wet beneath her fingers. She could feel her face heating up until it could be safely likened to a beetroot.

_Dammmmmnnnnnnn…._

"Hey, you must be new… I haven't seen you around…" His smile seemed to radiate through her entire being, "Well, I at least know that we haven't met… uh…god… this is stupid, sorry… let me start again." He gave a deliberate cough, and uncomfortably ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. "Hi, my name is Harry."

He looked flushed, but not from the cold… no just the contrary, he was glowing from heat... perhaps exercise? _I wish I was that hot…_ Sylphide scoffed at her own stupidity. His clothes were artfully rumpled, and clung greedily to his lean frame. His shirt was open at the collar to entrap the graceful curve of his collar bone. His delicate wire rimmed glasses did nothing to diminish the sensual forest green of his eyes… however it was what lay upon his forehead that held her interest, a jagged scar that slashed his flesh open into a puckered wound. Many, upon first sight, might find it repulsive, but to Sylphide, she felt that it reflected a strength of will that she suspected dwelled beneath his youthful exterior.

Sylphide awkwardly pushed herself up off the ground, refusing his hand in the process. She gave a gentle smile, hardly trusting herself to speak, she murmured "Hi, Harry…" and without losing eye contact until the very last second, she bent to pick up the first of her dropped papers.

If Sylphide had looked up, she might have noticed Harry's dazed expression. He had never seen such beautiful eyes in his life before… They almost made him forget his own name… He started "I'm so sorry, I was just getting in some quick quidditch practice before the holidays and the snitch just got away from me…" Realising her plight, he followed her lead and kneeled to begin collecting the papers. "I hope I can be forgiven…?"

Sylphide turned to look him straight in the face, barely inches away. She did not register the stunned look on his face when she murmured "O-of course…" She quickly turned away, shielding her face from his view. _Oh my god, my feelings are so plain on my face… it is embarrassing… _Harry looked quizzically at her back, wondering why she would not confront him.

However Harry would have been surprised if he'd known that Sylphide's mind was busily engaged appreciating what he was wearing. She gulped as she remembered how… good… his quidditch uniform looked on him… she thought that he must surely put all the other players to shame…

She feared turning to face Harry again, lest her admiration show on her features. Glancing swiftly back at him, she gently thanked him for his help in regaining her possessions.

Harry cocked his head "Anytime…" His voice seemed to dwindle as his eyes scanned her face. Her blonde hair appeared to form a halo behind her head, and even to Harry's tired eyes –from that morning's quidditch practice- she seemed to appear an angel.

Albeit, a lost and frustrated angel, but one all the same.

Biting her lip, she seemed to mentally withdraw, Harry wanted to hit himself, she was probably so used to green boys staring at her all the time that she found it creepy.

Sylphide pulled her eyes away from his face to look further down, upon spying his broom, which seemed to rest comfortably in his palm, she smiled "Oh, so I see the legends are true…"

Harry gulped, his angel had just spoken, and all he could do was gape. "W-wha-? What legends?"

"That the great Harry Potter flies… spectacularly, if the rumours are correct… I recall being told that you … performed… at the Triwizards Cup."

"I competed, if that is what you mean…"

"Yes," Sylphide laughed, "That is what I meant, sorry, I am not a great flier… In fact, I fell off my broom first time round, almost broke my arm… but I am just clumsy."

Harry desperately tried to conceal his emotions. "You? Clumsy?"

"Well, I was on my backside just a second ago, you know." Sylphide rubbed her robes down as if in good measure.

Harry could not contain the mirth that sprung from his chest, "Yes, that is something I can not refute!"

Sylphide smiled, her heart perched perilously in her gaze. Harry could not help staring back, as her eyes seemed to be bottomless pools of violet, deep as the ocean, rippling with emotion.

It was disturbing that one thought kept echoing through his mind…

_my own beautiful fallen angel…_

Harry checked himself _No, she is not my beautiful **anything**… unfortunately… least of all my angel…_

After an awkward silence, Sylphide said farewell, and (pretending that she knew where she was going) headed back in the general direction of Hogwarts Castle.

Harry watched her retreating form, a dreamy look clouding his vision. It wasn't until she had disappeared from his line of view that Harry remembered something drastic.

"Oh my god," He rasped "I don't even know her name!"


	2. Tale of the Twelfth Night

Harry stumbled back to the Gryffindor common room, his mind far from his whereabouts. His entire countenance was in shambles after the day's events, running his fingers through his hair, he almost laughed at his idiocy. Upon speaking the password, he walked rapidly upstairs to the male dormitory. It was only luck that his head was more agreeably occupied with the ethereal image of … her. Yes, just her. Ms. Unknown… It was terrible; he must have looked like a real asshole, conversing with her when he didn't even know her name…

Harry thrust his broom in the open cupboard, his callused fingers caressing the wood as he placed it inside. He could not help but recall talking to that girl… She really was beautiful, her blonde locks swirling around her face like a cloud of golden fleece…and her form was lithe and petite, she was slim but in an athletic sense. She was tiny, probably only reaching his shoulder in height, something about her made all of Harry's protective instincts rise to explosive proportions. However there was one feature that seemed to outshine all her others, like a beacon in a storm her eyes sent of message of warmth and safety… Glinting with something indescribable, the violet hue was so sultry it had literally taken Harry's breath away…

Who was she?

Harry gave a resigned sigh, moving to lie on his badly made bed. It was at this instant foot steps sounded outside his room. Raising himself up slightly to face the commotion only served to make his overworked muscles ache. However after a mild struggle, Harry managed to pull himself up to rest on his bedframe. "Who's there?" Harry shouted.

A mop of red hair could be seen coming from the corridor "Harry, it's only me…"

Harry only moaned "Hey, Ron."

In truth Harry could never really forgive Ron for what he had said about Hermione, but what choice did he have but to tolerate him? They had to see each other in almost every circumstance, it would have been virtually impossible to not encounter him some place or another during the remainder of school. Harry had never realised what a real prick Ron was until he met Lavender, she had seriously made him into a monster, one with which Harry had no real wish to associate himself.

"So," Ron said, as he threw himself onto the opposite bed. Pulling out a packet of lemon sherbets he shoved a whole handful into his mouth. "Wooz uup?"

"Nothing…" Harry murmured, pulling off his glasses to polish them on his shirt, his green eyes blinking furiously.

Ron seemed to swallow all the sherbets in a large gulp "Yeah right, Harry. I know that look… you know, that one where you have something heavy on your mind…"

Harry reflected that if there was one thing Ron was good at, it was reading people. Even though he was a real dickhead sometimes, he was damned good at analysing Harry's moods.

"Yeah, well you see I met this girl today…" Harry let his sentence drop off, hoping that Ron would pick up the idea.

"Oh right, lady troubles…" Ron winked knowingly. "Well you have come to the right place, I am definitely the Griffindor's certified ladies man…"

Harry looked at him doubtfully "I fully can't believe you just said that after that whole shit thing you did to Hermione..."

"Oh fuck off Harry, I handled it didn't I?"

"Ron, If I hadn't held your back, you would have been screwed… you have no idea how often I wanted to tell her… I feel a right wanker for not saying anything actually." Harry tilted his head back, lightly cracking it against the bedframe, giving himself a silent admonishment.

Ron seemed to be a scant second away from blowing up, his cheeks ruddy with splotchy colour. However with a deep breath, he appeared to calm down and in a strained voice he delicately tried to change the topic. "So..." Unfortunately his voice came out with a scratchy quality, reminding Harry disturbingly of nails running down a chalkboard. "...tell me about her."

Harry released a pent up breath. "Well I met her, what, ten minutes ago, and she is… it's like… I feel… bewitched…" Harry took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes in a gesture of aggravation. "Oh, before you say it... yes I do feel the irony."

A smile caused small crows feet to crinkle at the corner of Ron's eyes, slightly reminiscent of the playful boy he used to be. However as soon as it had appeared, the moment was gone, and the man he had become stood dangerously in his place. "Oh you mean that blonde one?" Ron asked, putting down the box of snacks, effectively breaking eye contact as Harry's gaze swung quickly to meet his.

He looked stunned "How did you know she was blonde?"

"From the look in your eyes…" Ron suddenly burst out laughing. "Just kidding mate, I saw you guys outside the window. She's definitely something special… I am getting a serious HOT vibe… talk about sex kitten…"

Harry grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at Ron "You perverted bastard…" It was weird, why had Ron's words dug so deep?

"Hey it is not like she belongs to you!"

Suddenly there was an intense quiet in the room. Harry slowly paced over to the window to glance thoughtfully out across the vast grounds. He murmured "No… she does not belong to me… It is also highly likely that I won't even get to see her for the entire holidays…" Harry looked forlorn, because hardly any students stayed at Hogwarts over the midyear break.

Ron smiled and leapt up off the bed to clap a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, I am disappointed… don't you remember what is happening tonight?"

Harry turned, no recognition flashed in his usually acute green hued gaze. "What are you talking about Ron?"

Ron shook his head in mock disgust "The Midsummer ball, my friend! What has my Ex been organizing this past semester?"

_That's right_, Harry thought. Hermione had been planning this ball for ages, before his two best friends had broken up, it had been the topic to surpass all other areas of polite conversation. Harry gave an internal sigh, perhaps life wasn't going too badly at all…

"Speaking of Hermione, I can hardly believe all the uproar she has caused in the Slytherin house!" Ron laughed, an almost cruel tinge lacing his words. "If I'd know she was this much fun, I might have even considered not fucking Lav."

Harry winced at the crudity of Ron's statement. "You know, you really are a heartless piece of shit sometimes…"

Ron clamped his lips together, obviously attempting to contain an equally harsh response.

The true Ron was emerging again; the one who didn't want to be kind, the one who thought only for his own pleasure… Harry despaired in thinking he could ever go back to the way he was before. In a sense, it saddened him… the only reason he hung out with the 'new' Ron was due to the fleeting hope that he might someday revert to the way he had been many years prior…

Uncomfortably, Harry tried to continue the flow of the conversation "So about the ball-"

"I hear the 'Slytherin Prince' isn't making an appearance tonight." Ron interrupted, his hair wildly standing on end. A mildly exasperated tone entering his voice. "The whole bloody house is disgusted that he is to spend the evening fawning at the sickbed of a 'mudblood'. Who would have thought Hermione had it in her to tame the Hogwarts Sex God?"

Harry murmured quietly in agreement. "hmm… she always seemed to hate him…"

Ron groaned "Well I am going to keep hating him, no matter what anyone tells me. He could have saved the bloody world, and I'd still want to kill him!"

Harry quietly murmured "Why do you hate him so much, Ron?"

"Well-… I-…" The words all seemed to clog in his throat, his face turning bright red. "I just hate what he says about me, and my family…"

"So…it has _nothing _at all to do with the fact that Hermione has managed to find happiness with Malfoy, something which she seemed unable to find with you?" The look on Ron's face was deadly, and Harry almost wished his declaration had gone unsaid…. Almost.

Ron squirmed under Harry's intense scrutiny "Lavender and I are happy, Harry." The statement appeared to be made as much to appease himself, as it was said to content Harry. "I have never been … happier."

Harry looked doubtful, but remained silent. Ron looked frustrated, so with a gentle smile, Harry placated his bruised pride. "Lavender is lucky to have you…"

Ron laughed; a humorless sound with little to no mirth whatsoever. "Hey Harry, tonight I think I will bring out my stash…" Ron moved over to one of the trunks lining the wall. Opening the lid, a wave of dust assaulted their nostrils. After a fierce bout of coughing, Ron pulled out a suspiciously unlabelled bottle of what smelt like muggle vodka.

"Where did you get that?!" Harry asked, a shocked expression clouding his handsome features.

"Fred and George gave me a few bottles to bring back last holidays –must have stole it from Dad's muggle collection- and they told me a party isn't a party without a bit of 'muggle' intoxication."

"Ron, I don't want to be responsible for underage-" Harry stopped mid-sentence, a terrible thought coming to his head.

Ron gave Harry a quizzical look, his eyes full of questions.

"Wait, is this ball just for seventh years?"

"yeah.." Ron drew out the word, not at all comprehending the purpose. "why is that important?"

"Well what if …" Harry almost feared to say the word "…what if she isn't a seventh year student?"

Ron shot Harry a look, which managed to simultaneously confuse and annoy… it was a very odd combination that was for sure… "Well let us see if fate is backing you, man…"

Harry sighed, he was 'the boy who lived'; attacked by Voldemort as an infant, a veritable orphan –now that Sirius was dead, and the Dursleys' sure didn't want him- and on multiple occasions he had been grievously injured by several unnatural forces... When had fate **ever** been on his side?

Sylphide raced to her room the minute she got back and slammed the door, the reverberating smash echoing through the Ravenclaw common room. Lazily she dropped down onto the bed, her heart pounding a mile a minute. Her cheeks were high in colour, and her breathing labored. Whether it was from the run or from meeting Harry Potter she had no idea. _I am worse than those stupid fan girls! _Undoing her hair from its confines, she slowed herself down by running her fingers through her hair. It shimmered in the dullness of the room, as if by magic it seemed to bubble and lick at her face, framing her face with a halo of artful curls. Abruptly Sylphide retreated, untangling her fingers from her hair. _I will not sit here, basking in my own vanity… vanity makes you vulnerable…_ It was a lesson she had already learnt, one that she was not eager to have repeated. "Not that there is much to be vain about… anymore anyway…" she whispered.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Sylphide? Hello, Sylphide are you in there?"

Sylphide hurried to make herself presentable, in her haste she shoved her diary beneath her bed. "Please, come in!"

A tall, willowy girl strutted confidently into the room. She immediately went and hauled Sylphide off the bedspread. The girl seemed to have a look of disconcertion painted across her otherwise charming features. "Syl, do you have any idea what time it is?" The girl's eyes flashed with fire, each word was punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. "How lovely of you to go and skip last period today! POTIONS, Sylphide! I was alone on my bench in POTIONS! Can you even perceive the pain I suffered?"

Sylphide gasped. She had completely forgotten to attend last period! "Oh Olivia, I am so sor-"

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Olivia swept her midnight tresses over her shoulder, her hazel eyes piercing Sylphide's conscience. "Besides, we were going to discuss your outfit for tonight, remember?" At this, a certain sparkle seemed to caress her gaze.

"Oh god," Sylphide sighed wearily "Not that again! I have only been here for less than two weeks, and I am already going to a ball?"

Olivia made a slight 'tutting' noise with her tongue "No Syl, not just any ball… this is the ball of the Twelfth Night!"

"Wha-?"

Olivia laughed, "Have you learnt nothing in History of Magic?"

Sylphide choked out "Well, I have only been here a fortnight…"

"Well let me just explain…" Olivia began, moving herself over to sit on Sylphide's recently vacated bed. "How can I begin this simply?… hmmm… You know that Christmas carol, the Twelve Days of Christmas?"

Sylphide gave an eager nod.

"Well, there is this story that many years ago, there was this rich nobleman, and he was completely enamoured of this beautiful woman -however to his dismay- she would have none of him. Meanwhile, there was this other young lady who had fallen in love with the nobleman, but he never saw her there. So in despair, she disguised herself as a boy, and offered to work for the rich nobleman. Each day, he would give her a different gift to give to the beauteous woman, but he was continually rebuffed…" Olivia gave a small smile, a sad smile… "It was not until the Twelfth Night, the young lady found that she could stand no more –her heart was breaking, you see- and upon revealing herself from her disguise, kissed the nobleman. Suddenly –to the lovers- the world had been turned upside down, and what had seemed 'wrong' before was now wonderfully 'right'."

Sylphide listened with awe. "That is so romantic…"

Olivia winked "They say it might have been the magic of the Twelfth Night that made them fall in love…"

"That story almost makes me willing to go to the Twelfth Night ball…" Sylphide laughed.

"What do you mean 'almost'? You are going! Besides, I have already decided what you are wearing!" Olivia giggled, and raced over to the dresser that stood on the edge of the room.

Sylphide half got up off the bed, "Watch out! Please make sure you don't rock that too much, I think my reading glasses are floating around in there somewhere… I can't afford another pair if you break them…" Rushing over to the dresser, she reached over Olivia's shoulder, fumbling with her blue rimmed reading specs.

"Don't stress so, Syl…" Olivia yelled, and with a flourish, she pulled out… what looked like… _it couldn't be_… a **_red corset_**. "I hid it in your drawers! Isn't that cool? I wanted you to find it, but you were taking to long to discover it!"

The garment itself was beautiful -as if the very fabric it was made of- was woven out of magic. The material was a daring silk of blood red, alluring … inviting… The bust was lovingly embellished with gold cord, which enhanced the delicacy of the material... it was almost more of an art form, than an item of clothing. An eye-catching sliver of bronze ribbon, accentuating the curve of the hips and the delicacy of the waist laced the bodice. However it was the skirt… the skirt, like a river of molten lava -a chiffon textile- promised to flow over the body, caressing the legs…

"What? Ohhhhh Nooooo…. No way! Nonononononono….!" Sylphide began to back away, dropping her glasses on her bed.

Olivia put on a melancholy frown, her eyes widening to the size of pools, watery and deep. "Plllleeeassseeee Syl…" She begged, her hands running over the soft fabric. "You are the sweetest, prettiest, purest thing around…"

With those words, Sylphide felt her countenance darken._ If only she knew…_ However with a cordial smile, she playfully swatted the garment away. "I can not wear that… it is so… racy!"

Suddenly Olivia said "TWENTY GALLEONS!"

"What?"

"I'll give you twenty galleons if you wear that outfit."

"You mean like a bet?" Sylphide queried, her brows furrowing "But what happens if I don't wear it? If I lose…?"

Olivia seemed to think hard, before she gave a sharp bark of laughter "You have to kiss –and I don't mean 'peck'- Harry Potter (on the lips, mind you.)"

Sylphide went from being relatively normal, to crimson in the space of two seconds.

"Come on Sylphide, it will be heaps simple! You wear these clothes and you will make a killing! Boys will be falling at your feet!"

"Well.." Sylphide spluttered, on the brink of hysteria. "If you are so enthusiastic, why don't you go and make the killing?!"

A wave of melancholy seemed to sweep over Olivia's entire being... her heart seemed to shine in her eyes –but like the girl in her story, it appeared fractured... she whispered sadly "I am… not … free tonight."

Sylphide thought it safe not to ask anymore questions. Since Sylphide had come to school, Olivia had been in mourning… she had never told her for whom she mourned, and to be honest, Sylphide was not dying to find out either. She wore black constantly, and was continually sighing… The only thing that remained obvious was that Olivia had obviously loved them very much... _How terribly tragic_, Sylphide thought... "All right… I'll wear it."

Olivia brightened at this remark and jumped up with renewed energy. "Oh Sylphide, you make me so happy! Maybe we can even get you a boyfriend tonight!"

Sylphide shivered… a memory of clammy hands touching her body, flashed across her mind.

…_No, not that again._


	3. The Fall of the Great

The night had barely even started, and Ron had already begun marking out his territory. An excited Lavender had sprung from the darkness, latching onto him for a kiss as Harry had looked away with disgust. _Tonight Ron will move on…he can't seem to help it…It is tragic that I can't even bring myself to pity Lavender… _Harry only barely restrained a sigh of complete despair… the marked glares they were receiving from the Slytherins only pushed Harry's ire further. Running a rough hand through his already rumpled hair did little to disguise his frustration, and as much as he hated to admit it, the glare of the lights was really beginning to screw up his vision. Pulling them off, he slipped them unconsciously into his pocket, he blinked rapidly adjusting to the flickering light, he was better off without them. _Only four or so hours until I can get out without public incident. _However it wasn't the hours that annoyed him, it was the knowledge of how much embarrassment he would be suffering due to Ron's 'womanising' over the rest of the night. Looking over in a quick once over surveillance, Ron was already chatting to some other brunette in the corner…

_Lavender was probably off getting the non-existent 'punch'… _

Harry resumed his relaxed stance, leaning against one of the many pylons that lined the ballroom. Every female face was covered by a domino half-mask, most probably formed by magic than by human craftsmanship. With that slight aide memoire in mind, Harry pulled his own wand from within his dress robes to allow a white domino to materialize over his boyishly handsome features. Though it would not disguise who he was, it was much easier to travel through a crowd of students as a semi-unknown, then the famous, yet –for some reason- oddly threatening 'boy who lived'.

Harry surreptitiously attempted to blow a wayward lock of hair from his forehead, whilst also managing to cool his flushed complexion. The ballroom was getting stuffy and overcrowded, with people streaming in from almost every angle. Harry attempted to hold his position, but knew when he was fighting a losing battle, so with a final sigh of resignation; he followed the streaming crowd only to break away, walking out of the hall onto a terrace. This had not been here prior to the ball, so Harry could only assume they had been created especially for tonight. Was the school promoting loose behaviour? Harry suspected that if Hermione had known, she may not have decided to spend the night up in the hospital wing after all. But then again, she had appeared to have changed, now that Malfoy –that is, Draco- had entered her love life. Harry pondered over how very much life had changed… Hermione with Mal- Draco… He'd never even seen it coming.

And despite how much he wished otherwise, he knew that Hermione's changes had been for the better. He wished he could have condemned Draco, called him an asshole for taking Hermione's innocence… but to his surprise, he could not. Bad blood had always flown free, but now that river had run dry…

All it took was one look at the poor bastard to see that Hermione was first and foremost in his mind, she held his heart in a vice so strong, Harry knew Draco would never go unloved again.

Bloody hell… he'd killed his own freaking father… for Hermione.

But then again, Harry had often wanted to kill Draco's father… and he would have willingly done it for anyone, had it not been illegal. It had been fortunate that Draco got away with his quick thinking and strong self defence…

_I wonder if I could ever feel like that for someone…_ Harry recalled the beautiful nymph he had met today on the fringe of the woods. Quickly he forced the ethereal image from his already troubled mind.

Looking up, Harry admired the night sky –despite its erroneous substance- which glittered with magical light. Harry hoped that tonight would at least hold promise for someone, even if it wasn't to be him. Leaning against the railing, the cool steel beneath his fingers felt so tangible, sometimes it was hard to believe that all of this that he had come to love could all be extinguished or rebuilt by the mere flick of a wand. Harry could not recall when he had felt so content. However this short spurt of happiness was to be short lived, when Harry suddenly felt himself being jolted against the railing. A hand had flown over his mouth, masking all intelligible speech. The strength of his assailant rose more from the art of surprise than physical strength, and Harry hardly had the time to fight it as he was pushed onto one of the stone benches, further away from the revealing glow of the ballroom.

Harry was on his back as he felt a heavy weight brace itself his body, heavy breathing whistling past his ear. Harry could feel his pulse racing… that is until he heard his attacker speak.

"I know he is with someone else…"

Harry could barely restrain his surprise "Lavender?" He choked, imagining his ribcage crushing as he gasped for air beneath her unexpectedly heavy weight.

Lavender released a wild moan, grinding herself against his pelvis. Harry struggled, but being pinned in such a way, he could not possibly move without shattering his hipbone. He lay prone as she clumsily attempted to seduce him, however her careful ministrations creating nothing but disgust.

However Lavender remained oblivious to his abhorrence, misinterpreting his struggles for something more suggestive. "Ooooh Harry…" Leaning down to capture his mouth, Harry brutally shoved her away. Only so much gentlemanly behaviour could be exhibited before enough was enough. Lavender seemed shocked at his actions. "What is wrong…?" she purred as she carefully dipped to lower her sagging cleavage into his line of vision, rubbing herself against his chest.

Harry could feel the bile rising up in his throat. He choked "Lavender, what the hell do you think you are doing?" Harry managed to gently push her off. "Ron is your boyfriend, remember? …"

Lavender gave an almost frightening giggle "Of course I know, but he doesn't seem to remember sometimes…"

It was then that Harry noticed how sheer Lavender's entire garment was, it was almost entirely see through, and he suspected that the glass of … well, whatever it was… was probably responsible…she'd probably dumped the stuff all over herself. "Have you been drinking?"

Lavender seemed to pull herself up, tugging at her loose neckline. However, as if thinking better of it, allowed her bodice to droop once more, only to run her fingers across her billowing flesh; her eyes sparkling with unbridled lust. "Yes, but you know how it is Harry… why would I want Ron, when I could be with you?"

Harry felt a grim expression cross his face. "Because I don't want you Lavender… and I never will…"

Lavender's face turned to a mask of livid rage; her lips quivering with an unspoken rage. "YOU AND HIM ARE EXACTLY ALIKE!"

"what!?"

Lavender tried desperately to regain her composure, but the damage was already done… and not only to her cheap foundation which seemed to crack under Harry's fierce frown. "You are more likely more… how shall I put this…? Discreet with your affairs, but that disgusting Ron used me, and has just now disgraced me in front of this entire ball!"

Harry could hardly comprehend her thought "So you think by having sex with me, you can gain your revenge on him?"

Lavender's gaze turned sultry, however in Harry's eyes, it only furthered her into the land of the ridiculous. "Well, to tell you the truth, it was always you I wanted…" Her eyes appeared to strip him bare. "I always assumed you to be more…_ hard_… than your red haired companion, but you never seemed to want me then… and Ron always did fancy my… assets." With a crude manner -that seemed to reflect Ron's, she pushed her breasts together as if to display her wares to the bumbling buyer. However Harry was no simpering green-boy virgin, and with a proud tilt to his chin, which he liked to believe he had gained from Hermione, he moved to edge past Lavender.

A firm hand latched onto his sleeve, and a sharp whisper crackled in his ears. "You think it makes me happy, seeing him dancing with that blonde bitch? You think it makes me feel like a better woman?" An odd hitch in her breath managed to catch Harry's attention – a sob? From Lavender Brown? Impossible! "Just think about you and I okay? It might just end up being worth it…"

And with those final words ringing through his mind, Harry tugged his arm free. He was mid-stride when he stumbled over a non-existent obstacle –probably conjured from his own thoughts.

_Did she just say blonde?_

_-_

Sylphide could hardly deny the magic that flooded her entire being when she walked through the doors of the Great Hall. The vivid golden hangings arrested the gaze, sending a calming warmth through her body. Despite Madame Maxine's talk, Beauxbatons –with all it's professions of beauty, had never been able to conjure anything this… majestic… this overwhelmingly awe-inspiring… With a long outtake of breath, she swept her golden hair aside, her blood red domino glittering in tandem with the sparkle in her violet eyes. Looking over her lithe form, she felt a wave of self consciousness wash over her already unstable state of mind. She had begged Olivia not to tie the stays too tightly, but alas her pleas had received no compassion. Her otherwise small breasts had been pushed so high that they appeared to be the size of melons… ugh, well.. hopefully not that awful… She felt like some sort of sordid masked courtesan, her waist appeared to be tiny and her skin shone of a bronzed statue. However it was her legs that made Sylphide blush in maidenly shame. They seemed so very long – a fact she knew to be horribly false- and as she walked, one leg managed to peek through the fabric… as if teasing the senses. …_Of men… _

Her heart beat a wild tattoo against her chest, and as she walked she could feel many eyes gracing her form as she glided slowly into the hall. Many of them vindictive, but most admiring. Sylphide was glad no one could tell who she was… if it hadn't been for the money Olivia had offered, she would not have come at all… not that she was mercenary, but if one thing was certain, she _needed_ money. Sylphide wiped the look of desperation from her features as she set forth, planning to dance for a while, fulfilling her bargain, then leaving… the memory of the 'woman in red' the only thing left to remember the night by.

With a sultry glance at her surroundings, she descended the magnificent sandstone staircase. Her lashes created a lush shadow which fanned over her cheeks, the roses in her cheeks highlighting her unusual violet coloured eyes - which for once were not obscured by her spectacles. The minute she entered the crush, the music happened to fade to a slow dance. Navigating her way through the abundant crowd, Sylphide soon found herself utterly lost. Her arms were losing their feeling as they were squashed by gyrating couples.

It was hardly any time at all until she felt hands circling her waist from behind. _Dammit…_ His hot breath sent shivers down her neck – and not the good kind. Sylphide shuddered, her hands instinctively clamping down on those wrapped tightly around her. Unfortunately these sweaty hands only seemed to tighten, pulling her flush up against his body. Sylphide cringed as she could feel sloppy kisses being placed all the way down her neck. With all the strength she possessed, she swung around to confront her abuser. Only to come face to face with Ronald Weasley, the childhood friend of Harry Potter. Her eyes widened in abject terror as his lips descended to clumsily lock onto her own.

Not to mention he was absolutely pissed.

His eyes lacked awareness, one hand appearing from her waist to crudely clamp onto her breast. Sylphide nearly retched as Ron's nails dug into her supple flesh and with a squeal of horror; she slapped his hands away wrenching her body from his wandering fingers. However her struggles seemed to be in vain as she felt his appendage stir against her softness, as if aroused by her resistance, rather than deterred. She desperately wished to swab her entire mouth with antiseptic, but contented herself to thinking that she could easily do that when she got back to her own dorm. However that didn't dissolve the disgusting taste that now resided on her lips. This was not turning out well at all, in fact the night seemed to be becoming an abject disaster! With movement that brought tears to her eyes, Ron ground his hips against her, soiling her person. Finally with a movement at old as time itself, she reached her hand back only to bring it back in a strong arch, slapping Ron across the face. His neck seemed to snap with the force, his eyes momentarily regaining their focus to register the red welt that burned at his cheek.

Suddenly a hand appeared on Ron's shoulder, and her aggressor was spun around, leaving her staring at his back. However as soon as she heard her saviour's voice, she almost passed out in fear.

"Ron," Harry growled with barely restrained anger. "How many times do we have to tell you? I would have thought Hermione had taught you this lesson. Your constant red cheeks do not match the décor." And with a loud crack of bone meeting bone, Ron's entire body was thrown back from the force of Harry's fist. Sylphide only just managed to escape being crushed by Ron's prone torso as it fell unheeded to the ground. And as she saw him slowly get engulfed by the other people who flooded the dance floor, she realised that despite the swelling of the crowd, she could not hide from Harry's green eyed stare. She could feel it boring into her face, and as she lifted her eyes, her lashes delicately tried to mask her fervent admiration that glowed throughout her very soul. This was the 'boy who lived', who could not admire all that he had achieved? Sylphide was convinced that it was nothing about his lean frame, rumpled raven hair or his smouldering gaze that seemed to light her insides afire. Sylphide felt a blush start over her bosom, slowly rising to overcome her features. When she had seen him last, he had been deliciously sexy, but now he was so very handsome, he honestly took her breath away.

Sylphide bit her lip, trying to inspire a fear of this boy in her mind, his strong hands abusing her flesh, his mouth ravishing her own… however no matter how much she told herself, she knew it was not his strength she feared, but rather was her own weakness to his charm –_ Gods! What if he recognises me_? Her corset was restricting her breathing, and with her heart pulsating wildly against her breast, she was not surprised when Harry's stunning green eyes lingered for a second too long on her heaving chest. She was acting like a cake, and worst of all, she had no idea how to amend her current behaviour. So there she stood, gaping at him like a beached cod.

_Does she not have any idea how beautiful she looks? _Harry could hardly keep his features in check, his jaw threatened to unhinge from his face and crash to the cold ground. This was definitely her. There was no way of mistaking those same glowing violet eyes for any other. However this minx in from of him was no shrinking violet, no… she was all fire and passion. Her bejewelled corset drew a man's gaze like a moth to the flame, a trap designed only to leave the opposite sex frustrated as hell. _Panting with lust, more like…_ Harry watched intently as her skirts promised a taste of heaven itself, as the slit rose up her bared flesh, carving a path to the sensual promise that lay beneath; the molten lava whirling around her legs, showcasing their suntanned perfection. Her revealing clothing, on any other woman, would have portrayed her wantonness, but on his angel, it revealed a gentle innocence he longed to protect.

No mask could hide her beauty from him… and as he swiftly glanced about, Harry noticed that he was not the only male that had been affected by her innocent charm. Jealousy - as heady as wine, intoxicated his mind. With a telling silence, he outstretched his hand and with a stunning lack of hesitation, Sylphide immediately laced her delicate fingers with his, entwining them. Tenderly he led her from the ballroom.

Sylphide had no idea what to make of him… One moment his eyes were glittering with banked sensuality, and the next he was yanking her out of the ball. Not that Sylphide could honestly say she didn't like the feeling… His hand, though callused was surprisingly gentle, and Sylphide felt her body ripple with excitement as he pulled off his jacket, revealing his lean but well muscled chest, barely covered by a white dress shirt. Lightly the garment was placed loosely over her shoulders, and Sylphide could not help but become giddy with the masculine scent that radiated from his clothing. The fragrance was all that was Harry, and Sylphide revelled in its warmth.

Harry could hardly believe he had just dragged her outside, running a hand through his hair he wondered at his impetuousness. His jacket appeared to engulf her, how very small and fragile she was… _too delicate for me_… he thought, as he looked down at his rough hands.

Suddenly her eyes looked onto his, violet mingling with green. She looked like she was about to speak, but retreated at the last instant. It was Harry who then murmured "Who are you?" His hands moving to her jaw, his fingers reverently grazing her features.

Sylphide felt her hand, on its own volition, reach up to loop with his. Her lips quivering with anticipation. Her heart was resting precariously on her sleeve, and with an action she knew she would later regret, she let her arms crawl up over his wide shoulders; her fingers playing with the hair at his nape. She didn't even know him, but somehow this just felt so right… was it really the magic of the Twelfth Night? The only thing Sylphide knew was that he attracted her like a lodestone, and tonight it didn't matter that this boy was 'the boy who lived' or the Dark Lord's enemy…

He wasn't even Harry Potter…

He was just Harry…

…and being in his strong embrace, she'd never felt more important

This was when Harry did possibly the most stupid thing in the world… or was it the most intelligent? Harry was cursed with the scar that marked not only his forehead, but his very soul. Spies could be anywhere, looking for a potential weakness with which they could use to kill him…

However, with a final curse at his own impulsiveness, he leaned down to capture his lips with hers…

And with that, the great Harry Potter had fallen.

Please tell me how you liked it… I would really love to gain some more reviews for this one! A big thank you to all the people who have already reviewed and I encourage you to review again… etc.

Yours with love,

Shakespeare-Lozza


	4. The 'Boy' Who Lived

. Hey! This is a little note from Loz thanking EVERYONE for reviewing! I am sorry this chapter has been a long time coming, but here it is! I'd also like to spend a second and say MERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and this is going to be my little present to you! I am very excited, aren't you? Anyway, I won't keep you any longer... enjoy!

-

Lavender was stone drunk, and didn't she know it! There she stood in her gauzy, green dress, swaying precariously on her four-inch heels. Rejected twice in one evening was hardly something a woman of her assets should have to bear! No, not at all. Never in her life had she been the one to play second fiddle… never… Lavender felt the bile in her throat congealing with fury and with a vicious swallow, contained her annoyance. Here, at one of the most important balls of Hogwarts history, she stood pathetically on the fringes of the dance floor, all alone. It wasn't fair; she should be the one undulating suggestively against that frenzied pack of guys… she was sexy… she was hot… but in the eyes of her 'boyfriend' evidently not. She had already proved her worth once before, snatching her present lover from the grasp of that boorish bookworm, Hermione Granger. Lavender snarled, moving to the outer recesses of the ballroom only to stand in the shadows. It still irked her that despite her fantastic steal, Hermione had been the one to come out on top. Again. That stupid bitch at this very moment lay curled in the protective arms of Draco Malfoy… while Lavender was stuck in the deepest cesspit of hell with Hermione's reject ex-boyfriend. Lavender dismissed that weird feeling of jealousy bubbling within her… _Screw Draco and Hermione…they'll never last…_

Lavender pulled the neckline of her dress down a few more inches to reveal her impressive cleavage, the tops of her nipples peeking from the diaphanous material just barely containing her bust. She was going to win back her man, or die trying. Pushing her way through the throng, she soon found herself wedged between several couples. The 'old' Lavender… that shy little flower… would have screeched at the random guy grabbing at her flesh and thumbing her areola, but those days had ended. She moaned in pleasure, but knew that she must find Ron. So as she reluctantly pulled away, it was pure luck that she rapidly found herself face to face with her quarry. His wild red hair was standing up on end, as if mussed by someone's fingers… someone that was certainly not her. He didn't even appear to notice who she was, his eyes dulled by liquor. However this didn't deter her. Lavender moved herself flush up against Ron, her lips locked on the pulse at his neck, she restlessly let her hand wander down to the fly of his jeans. Lavender's eyes shot wide open in wonder as her fingers encountered a full hard on. He'd obviously been having even more fun than she thought. With a familiar tingle, she expertly swept her nimble hand beneath the waistline of his pants, brushing the head of his already rigid member. Lavender still recalled the term prior when this very action nearly brought the poor, innocent boy – as he had been then- to his knees.

Ron moaned with ecstasy and pushed himself against her palm. "Ohh… yeah…."

Plainly it still did. Lavender smiled and continued her caresses… _He is mine… I've got him in the palm of my hand… _Lavender laughed softly…_ Literally!_

Lavender could feel the scent of his arousal stealing her senses. "Ron…"

Ron's face was growing flushed as he twitched on the brink. His loose hands coming to clumsily pull at her breasts. He had never really been a skilled lover… in fact, the more Lavender thought about it, more of his attraction had come from taking him from Hermione. Lavender shrugged to herself, and pushed the thought away. Fucking a Weasley was exciting… she'd made him so bad… and that was something she found irresistible. A creature of her own creation… it made her so hot she could hardly think. She sighed, "Ron… you are so…" her hand pumping faster and faster.

His breath seemed to be almost non existent, as he groaned 'Fuck me, Parv… this is so kinky…'

Lavender heard the words in the furthest reach of her mind, but it dampened her ardour like a doused candle. With lightning speed, she screeched 'WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!'

Suddenly she was harshly pulled away, brisk air rushing against her front, leaving her so very cold. It was in seconds that she was looking into the cold eyes of Parvarti Patil, surprisingly dressed in a very revealing blue … well… dress…. If it could honestly be called a dress, it looked more like a slightly enlarged handkerchief, only just covering the essentials. Amazing… that prudish Parvarti had become very… bad… It was odd how people could so easily change…not that Lavender had much right to talk.

Parvarti pulled her close, whispering in her ear. "He's mine, so fuck off. Nobody touches him but me." And with a risqué smile on her face, she moved over to Ron, her hand boldly replacing where Lavender's own had just been. "Oh, I see that you were admiring my handiwork… well don't you worry, I'll finish up where you left off."

Lavender had never really felt emotion quite like this before, but all she knew was, she was seeing red.

Lots of it.

It was in the blink of an eye that Lavender was stalking off the dance floor, Parvarti Patil's mocking laughter dogging her every step, echoed further by Ron's moans of pleasure.

Her mind was fogged with anger… She would get her revenge… in fact; she knew just how to get it. It was not a long search before her eyes sought out the form she required.

The Great Harry Potter's broad shoulders could be spied in one of the alcoves and the poor combination of the amazing amount of alcohol in her blood and her eagerness to thwart Ron, did not at all allow her mind to register the other figure that stood beside him. That petite shape swathed in crimson went unnoticed, as Lavender marched towards Harry. Her unrelenting determination jostled a few people causing them to mutter distastefully about her. But it didn't matter anymore what they thought of her. Nothing did, except avenging herself after that shocking humiliation.

She licked her lips in anticipation.

She was going to get Ronald Weasley… even if it meant using his best friend to do so.

-

Sylphide could feel her poor heart beating a mile a minute, _this was so stupid… but yet… _she could not control the flurry of emotion that was pounding at her breast. The crisp hair at Harry's nape curled around her fingertips, as under her feather light touch, she felt a slight shiver snake its way down his spine, and she marvelled at the effect that her kiss could have on this seemingly steadfast boy. He had always appeared so impervious to anything and everything… and Sylphide enjoyed her scant moment of feminine power. Never before had any male made her feel so… well… _special_… His hands were delicately wrapped around her waist, treating her like a precious china doll, but at the same time frustrating her with his lack of contact. With a firm resolution in mind, Sylphide eagerly swayed herself closer in his embrace.

She could feel a growl emerge from within his throat, "Oh god.." he murmured, before gently moving once again over her soft lips.

Mentally she gave herself a satisfied pat on the back, as his arms unconsciously hugged her intimately into the curve of his arms. However this only succeeded to befuddle her already muggy brain, for in the furthest recess of her mind she only just recognised the surge of desire that radiated throughout her body.

Sylphide refused to acknowledge the hunger that began in the pit of her belly, because yearning only led to somewhere her heart did not wish to go… love was not a pain that she was willing to go through again… Sharp pangs of heat spiralled down to her core, her eyes dilating with sensual delight… it should have been so wrong… but it wasn't. The disturbing fact was that it was quite the opposite.

As the kiss broke, Sylphide slowly let her eyelids flutter open. With gentle fingers, she reverently grazed the soft flesh of his lips… It was amazing how hard they looked from afar, and how unimaginably pliable they were in reality. However this then led to the inevitable thought of how many other girls would now have envied her position… Though this only worked to release the green eyed monster of jealousy within... despite it being completely unfounded. It was then that she suddenly realised he wore no glasses, and if anything his eyes were brighter without them. However with a heavy blush suffusing her cheeks, Sylphide silently allowed herself to admit that she found guys in glasses really sexy… or maybe that preference had only been born upon meeting Harry… at this point in time she couldn't actually tell. Her brain was turning gelatinous under his tender ministrations, what girl would be able to think properly under the circumstances?

"Open up for me.." He whispered, his lips feathering to the corners of her mouth. Sylphide could not stunt the moan of indulgence that erupted from deep within her throat.

Sylphide felt her mouth widen, only to be boldly possessed by his fierce ardour. With infinite gentleness, his tongue ran over the seam of her lips, then with a heat that held her enthralled, he plunged into the far recesses of her mouth, sending jolts of pleasure down her spine. His hands were so hot against her face... or was that just the blush that riddled her own complexion? She hardly knew… the only thing she could feel was him… consuming her… protecting her… Something that she had never felt before, almost indescribable… Had she not promised herself this would not happen again? Love was something that only brought misery and pain in its wake.

She broke away from him, that scant instant, turning her face from his avid gaze. His voice seemed to resonate from his chest in a breathless rasp. "Who- who are you?"

Sylphide could not bring herself to meet his gaze, instead pillowing her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating a stalwart rhythm against her ear.

There it was again, that ageless rhythm that only seemed to egg her on…

"Oh Harry… " Sylphide rapidly shook her head, her hair whirling about her like a sandstorm. "My name is-" Her voice teetered off, fearing to speak her dreaded thoughts.

It was a moment that could have lasted a lifetime, but instead grew to a shattering halt, when a crash sounded in the doorway. With a decent amount of shock covering her features, Sylphide turned to see a very inebriated Lavender Brown stumbling towards her... _no… not me… it's Harry she walks to…_

"Harry, dar- hic darling!" Sylphide looked onto the scene with a mild bout of envy running through her veins. Sober, Lavender was pretty enough, but even when she looked close to comatose, she could still pull off sexy – even if it was rather messy. Let's not forget that muggles did call alcohol the 'social lubricant', as suss as that may sound. Thinking about it, where in hell had she gotten the alcohol to get so … messed up? Harry was soon seen to answer that question.

"Lav, don't tell me you actually drank that stuff Ron brought? That vodka could have had anything in it…" Harry's genuine concern showed on his face as he ran to stop her from falling on her face, leaving Sylphide cold and alone. She felt like a street urchin looking in to a fancy home, standing in the semi darkness, while the man she… liked immensely was holding another girl.

Why was she so worried anyway? This 'Lav' had no bond on Harry… or at least so she'd been led to believe. She was being stupid… she almost found herself laughing at her own idiocy… Almost.

It was mere instants before Sylphide had finally convinced herself she had been worrying for naught, when the thought was suddenly halted midway, as just after a swift turn of Lavender's head back into the dark interior of the hall, Sylphide saw a horribly dark look cross her face as she quickly laced her arms around Harry's neck.

'Harry, I know why you are being so kind… How nice of you to reconsider my offer..." She purred, just as she pulled him down for a kiss.

The kiss seemed to last for an eternity, although in reality it barely lasted for a second. However that meant nothing to Sylphide's already bruised heart as she watched on in horror. _Obviously this girl knows Harry well enough to take such… liberties! _Sylphide's mouth was hanging right open in surprise, but was just as rapidly slammed shut as she raced past the clinging couple back into the hall. Tears began to pool in her eyes, but with a stubborn swipe they were once again non-existent. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit Harry was something special… but maybe that was the problem, maybe he was just too special… and could never be truly special to only one person. One love.

Impossible.

The 'boy who lived' was already loved by too many.

Sylphide knew she had to go… before she became one of countless others that filled the pages of his life.

It was for this reason she ignored that voice that echoed over the many other voices that drifted through the hall.

"Wait!" He yelled.

The music blared, if anything Sylphide ran faster.

It was really a question to consider, whether she would have stopped, once hearing Harry's laboured whisper of defeat upon losing her in the disorderly crowd.

"No… don't go…"

Harry felt his heart rise up in his throat as he murmured…

"… I love you, my Angel."

-

Sylphide flung herself onto her bed and wept. Her tears felt like the release of a dam of frustration, annoyance… and… and… anger. What right did he have to catch her so completely?

To take her heart and squeeze it in his iron fist; he had not a single right in the world!

Now Sylphide prided herself on the fact that this logic made sense… except for the fact that it wasn't actually Harry's fault. He had made no promises to her… so what right did she have, in feeling so betrayed…? None whatsoever.

Moving over to the window, she stared out over the widespread grounds of Hogwarts. The sky was so beautiful, but oddly blurred… a slight wetness was trickling down her cheek, the only indicator to her distress, falling… only to land unheeded upon her hand as it lay on the cold stone. This time she did nothing to stop her tears, it had been too long since she had been allowed to cry… much too long.

Suddenly she saw a small grey spot in the distance. _A shooting star? _No, it was flying toward her at rapid speed.

An owl, its wings flapping gently in the wind, a note visibly suspended from its delicate limbs. But why so late at night? Why not at breakfast like usual…?

Sylphide was soon to discover as the message was deposited in her hands, that this was one missive that had needed to reach her before the light of tomorrow. Desperately.

Sylphide paled considerably as she read, a look of dread crossing her features.

_Dearest Sylphide, _it read.

_While I write this he comes. He is coming for you Syl… Marden is coming! I am so sorry, I promised I wouldn't tell, but he was … never mind that... I don't want you to worry… but believe me when I say I am so sorry… He knows you are at Hogwarts, and he is going to be looking for you. You must leave! _

_You are not safe… go... You know what will happen if he finds you._

_I am sorry..._

_Your sister, _

_Sophia_

Marden was coming. She knew he would, but it just seemed too soon… Sylphide felt the note flutter from her hands. And faintly heard the cooing of an owl… it seemed eager to take a return letter. Yet Sylphide could hardly breathe, let alone pen a memo to her sister.

It was odd that in her moment of distress, her mind was still clouded by Harry.

Because despite how much she knew she must run… she knew that in her heart, she must stay.

And that was where the idea came from. Just like that. Like a shock of lightning from the heavens, she ran from the window straight to the long cheval mirror that stood in the corner of the room. With ease, she pulled her hair up away from her face. Turning to view her profile this way and that.

With a smile on her lips, she grabbed her quill and ink and picked up the message from her sister only to turn it over and write rapidly on the back.

_Soph, _

_Please do not despair, for Marden will not get what he seeks, because he will not find me._

_At least, not the me he knows. For, I have a plan._

_Yours, _

_Sylphide_

She knew what she had to do, and with a strong intent in mind, she grabbed her wand and was out the door. She had to find him… she had to find Dumbledore.

This disguise was going to be so perfect that even Olivia wouldn't recognise her.

That reminded her, where was Olivia? Oh well, she would see her soon enough… but Olivia would not see her.

Sylphide smiled, _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is going to pull their best Magic Trick yet…_

_With a swirl of my skirts, I am going to disappear from here._

Sylphide then laughed as she ran to the portrait hole.

_And soon, I will return back a **New Man**!_

_Hah, Harry Potter! Now let us see who truly is the 'boy who lived'!_

-

By the way guys, for everyone who has been reading since Pride and Pretence, I have decided to make this a trilogy...

It can be a guessing game for a little while who the third story's couple will be!

Here's what it has been so far;

Draco and Hermione - (Pride and Pretence)

Harry and Sylphide - (On the Twelfth Night)


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